For you
by Eastern Wavelength
Summary: An unorthodox master, a strange knight and a highly sought after Wish-granting cup. Join a strange pair of participants in the never-ending battle for the Holy Grail. Set in London, AU, post UBW.


Summon

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It was an amazing feat she had accomplished, he thought. His little master, who had no proper magic lineage, had managed to summon a spirit such as himself to take part in a great farce dubbed the Holy Grail War.

A war in which seven Masters summon seven Heroic Spirits to do battle for a Wish Maker from the legends and myths of all epochs. A war in which he was not the least bit interested in.

Just as well. Because he was not a full-fledged Heroic spirit and she was not exactly what anyone might call a 'proper magus' either.

His Master did not scream. She did not treat him like a monster unlike the unpleasant villagers from long before, even as he pulled his decapitated head off like a knight would do his helm and knelt at her feet, words of his eternal allegiance and loyalty already on the tip of his tongue.

But when she spoke, it was not to command his will, mind, nor freedom. It was to introduce herself, and ask of his name.

There was no order to stand up, there was no order to swear his life and his sword to her. Instead, she told him to do as he pleased after they had exchanged names.

Durahan had no wish for the Holy Grail to grant and Shizune Mako had no reason to participate in such a bloody battle. But the fake magus and her false servant did so anyway.

He for she had called, and she for he had naught.

They are an unorthodox pair, Durahan decided, both he and his little master. But it was not the fact that he was not a Heroic Spirit and she was not a magus, but the reality that he had decided to protect her life of his own accord, and she has sworn to win the war for his sake.

Durahan knew himself, that he was no Heroic Spirit, no knight in shining armor. But he decided he could be, if she tied his head back on so he did not look so much of a monster, so he could look up and noble, like the knight he used to be.

Durahan was no knight. He had fallen and now terrorized the night. But the headless horseman decided that he could be, for her and her only.

_Ni mor a admhail, tá tú go hálainn

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Game start

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Night fell. Shadows blanketed the sleepless city of London. The warm glow of street lamps illuminated the traditional cobblestone streets as people hurried about towards their own destinations. Some home, some to a nearby convenience store, others to a pub for a drink to wind down after a day's work.

One, for the sake of her life.

Twenty-four year old Amy Walker raced down dark alleyway after alleyway, hoping desperately to shake off the unsettling shadow that always seemed to flit about just behind her. It was so close, she could feel hot breath on her throat, yet so far when she could not bear to turn around to see who was the maniac playing such a dastardly trick on her.

She had long lost count the number of corners she ducked behind and the walls she had vaulted. And yet, still no progress of losing this frenzied shadow stalker. It was as if he knew the maze of alleyways only the dirt poor of London were familiar with, like the back of his hand. There were many suspects she could think of. The seedy roadside magickster who leered at her every time she passed by. The corrupted chief constable who had bought her services quite a number of times. And there were also many a desperate man who resorted to theft to get by.

But none of the people she knew or noticed could ever make a headstrong woman such as herself feel so threatened, cornered and helpless. There existed no man in London who could make Amy Walker feel like an ever-present fog of death was constantly swirling around her head.

Save one. But he should long have been dead.

The one legend the people of London are most familiar with. The single soul all prostitutes like herself are so terrified of even to this day.

The man called Jack the Ripper.

She didn't want to believe it. After all, even if the maniac was never caught, he should have been six feet under a good long time ago. She tried so desperately to dismiss the thought but the panic rising within allowed her no comfort.

Her lungs ached for air. How long had she been running from the shadow now? She didn't know, she didn't care. Even as every single shuddering intake of the frigid London air flash-froze her lungs, she would keep running. She had to. If she stopped, the shadow would claim her. The shadow of the man who terrorized the night of London, the shadow of Jack the Ripper.

But The Ripper grew bored of the chase. It was the same thing every single time he wanted to instill some fear into those brazen hussies. He would appear before them, they would scream and take to the maze of alleyways that were the slums of London and he would chase. He would catch up and sink his knife into tender flesh and it ended all too quickly.

In the same manner, Amy Walker of twenty-four years, ended her life drowning in her own blood on the floor of a stinking, trashy slum.

His knife cut cleanly into the flesh of her neck, and blood spurted forth from the gash in a macabre parody of a fountain. Amy's assailant laughed as he watched her fall and the light leave her eyes. This time, The Ripper did not bother with inflicting the trademarks of his kill upon the lady's fallen body. Instead, he brought the pale column of her neck to his lips and drank the blood flowing freely from the open wound.

From the roof of a building, another man, clothed from head to toe in black formal wear, watched. He tipped his top hat and smirked at the scene below.

"Good job on your kill today."

"Please keep up the performance, Assassin." He said to the grimy one drinking the fallen prostitute's blood much like a dehydrated man at a desert oasis.

The woman dissolved into nothingness in Assassin's grip, deprived of her existence by the two death gods swathed in black. Assassin chuckled. The stupid woman had certainly been right about one thing though.

He was dead, he had long since been. And no human could ever return from the eternal vice called death.

But he was no longer human. He was a malicious spirit, called back by the most sought after Wish Maker to contest for ownership. Recalled from the Halls of the Dead to fight for a cup he had never heard of, much less was interested in.

But Jack the Ripper was given a second chance at life, even if it was to battle it out with six other people he had never seen nor heard of, even if it was by a stupid cup to grant the wish of a stupid master, he would damn well milk it for all its worth.

Starting with this lady, Jack the Ripper would once again terrorize London.

_Time to reopen those casebooks, you damn dogs of Scotland Yard, The Ripper is back.

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**AN:** Another one out of many other takes on a Fifth Holy Grail War but one of the minority with the Grail War not occurring in Fuyuki City. I'm still a greenhorn writer, so any form of criticism is welcome. But do tell me what the problem is, I wouldn't understand anything at all if I'm only presented with a line telling me how much the story sucked.

Hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I have writing.


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